


House For Sale

by teenageinvincibility



Category: Phlochte - Fandom, Swimming RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2014-07-30
Packaged: 2018-02-11 02:02:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2049177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teenageinvincibility/pseuds/teenageinvincibility
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>House for sale, memories are not</p>
            </blockquote>





	House For Sale

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this done for a while, I just never got around to posting it. It isn't exactly what I wanted it to be, but I guess I like it enough, and I don't plan on editing it any further. Just cleaning out my fic folder.

Michael rolled over onto Ryan’s vacated side of the bed. He buried his face into Ryan’s pillow and inhaled deeply, taking in the faint yet familiar smell of chlorine, citrus Head & Shoulders shampoo, and cologne. Glancing over at Ryan’s nightstand, he learned that it was 10:30 in the morning. Ryan had gone to the pool four hours ago, and Michael vaguely remembered lips pressing sloppily against his cheek.

Yawning, Michael sat up and put his feet on the floor, stretching his impressive wingspan. He cracked his toes against the hardwood floors and stood up, lazily pulling the covers up so they were somewhat smooth over the bed; it was all the effort he ever put into making it. Michael turned around to the window and pulled the curtain back, looking out at the large FOR SALE sign on their front lawn. He sighed.

Michael padded down the stairs to the kitchen, grabbing a bowl and pouring himself some Frosted Flakes. When Kellogg’s had asked Michael which cereal he wanted in bulk next, Michael had passed the decision along to Ryan, who’d picked the sugariest one they offered. Shocking.

Glancing around the kitchen, Michael found he could look at certain pieces of furniture and have flashes of memory. He was really going to miss this house, the first house he and Ryan bought together. It was a few minutes away from the house Ryan and Devon had lived in together. Michael had agreed to move to Florida while Ryan was still training, but only with the promise that they would be gone the second Rio’s Closing Ceremony was over.

Michael got up from the table and took his bowl over to the sink. He remembered coming home from grocery shopping one afternoon to find Ryan at the sink, the water running, and the drain quickly filling with blood as Ryan stuck his arm under the faucet.

_“What the fuck?” Michael had gasped, literally dropping the groceries and running over to his boyfriend. “What happened?”_

_Ryan took his eyes off the large gash in his forearm to guiltily meet Michael’s eyes. “Turns out I can’t skateboard down the front walk and flip off it to slam dunk in the driveway.”_

Rolling his eyes at the memory, Michael rinsed out his bowl and stuck it in the dishwasher. He was sure that he could walk around every room of this house and pick out any number of memorable moments. He walked back up to their bedroom.

From where he stood in the doorway, he ran his fingers over the small, oval dent in the wall. It was small enough that you have to be looking for it to see it, but Michael saw it happening very clearly in his head.

_“Where are you going?” Ryan asked, walking into their bedroom._

_Michael looked up from his filling suitcase. “Vegas. I told you - “_

_“My mom’s birthday is tomorrow. You said you’d go to her house for dinner. My whole family’s expecting you to be there, I told them you were coming.”_

_“I know,” Michael said slowly. “And I told you three days ago that Haney scheduled - “_

_“I don’t give a shit about Haney,” Ryan spat. “You said you’d be there, this is bullshit.”_

_“Ryan, this is my job right now, I can’t just - “_

_“Job? Mike, you’re - “_

_“Would you let me finish a fucking sentence?” Michael roared. Ryan scowled at him and then pushed his suitcase off the bed, the contents of it spilling out all over the floor. “Fuck you.”_

_“Yeah, we’ll see if you ever get so lucky again.”_

_In one swift motion, Michael pushed Ryan up against the wall on his side of the bed, taking just enough care to not bash his head into the window. “Grow the hell up,” he growled. “I can’t drop everything for you all the time.”_

_They glared into each other’s eyes and then Michael let Ryan go. He was halfway to the door when something soared past the corner of his eye and smashed into the wall, hard enough to leave a dent._

_Michael turned around to find Ryan, chest heaving. “I’d do it for you.” They held each other’s gaze for a few seconds and then Michael left, closing the door behind him._

Later that night, after Ryan had fallen asleep and Michael had felt it was safe to go into the room, he’d realized that what Ryan had thrown at him was his autographed Ray Lewis bobblehead.

Michael moved further into the room and looked slowly around it. He walked over to the large, wooden bureau. It was completely empty, its sole purpose being a stand for the flat-screen Ryan and Devon had fought over when Ryan moved out. Michael slid his hand slowly down the side, feeling the contrast between the smooth wood and the large chunk missing.

_“$900?” Michael repeated, stopping on the stairs. “You paid $900 for a piece of wood to hold up our TV instead of just mounting it on the wall?”_

_Ryan shrugged, Michael’s disbelief rolling off his shoulders as he pushed past Michael. “Dude, it’s way more attractive than some ugly metal thing on the wall. This bureau matches our headboard and the dressers in our closet. It pulls everything together.”_

_“It was $900!”_

_“As if it matters,” Ryan mumbled. “But if it means that much to you, I’ll take it back, okay? I’ll call the guys and have them come pick it back up tomorrow.” He opened the door to their bedroom and froze in the doorway, Michael lifting his chin slightly to see around Ryan._

_“Are you fucking kidding me.” Carter was gnawing away at the bureau, drool flying from his mouth, as his nails dug into the leg, his tail wagging wildly._

Michael straightened up. He remembered Ryan calling the moving guys and saying that the bureau had been delivered like that; probably got dented in the truck. The guys called Ryan out on his lie, saying they inspected it before leaving. They said they’d come pick it back up, but Ryan wouldn’t get his money back and would have to pay for them to take it. So Michael and Ryan kept it.  

They’d found other uses for it, though. While every single drawer was empty upon first look, three of them had false bottoms where Michael and Ryan kept their various medals. It had been Ryan’s idea. Michael wanted to put them in the safety deposit box, which Ryan challenged by saying that it would be harder to wear them during sex if they had to go pick them up whenever they wanted them. Ryan won that battle.

Michael looked around and then walked a couple steps over to the overstuffed chair in the corner. He dropped down into it and patted the arms.

_Michael walked into the house at two in the morning and locked the door behind him. He took a step towards the stairs and tripped in the darkness. Grumbling, he kicked Carter’s bone out of the way and tiptoed up the stairs, patting Herman’s head as he passed. He quietly opened the bedroom door to find Ryan asleep on the chair in the corner. He set his bag on the floor and padded across the room to his boyfriend._

_Michael put his hands on the arms of the chair to keep his balance as he bent forward and kissed Ryan. His lips were unresponsive at first, slowly coming to life, his hands reaching up to pull Michael down. “When did you get home?” Ryan mumbled against him._

_“Just now.”_

_“I guess I fell asleep. What time is it?”_

_Michael didn’t answer. He lowered himself to his knees and pushed up Ryan’s shorts to expose his thighs. Michael rubbed his nose against the warm, smooth skin, pressing kisses to all of the right spots. Ryan moaned and dug his fingers into Michael’s scalp as Michael pulled Ryan’s shorts down and took him into his mouth. Michael gave long, slow sucks, teasing Ryan, until Ryan started arching up into him. Taking the hint, Michael took him all the way, pressing his nose against Ryan._

_After warning him with a tap to the shoulder, Ryan came down Michael’s throat. Michael sat back on his heels and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as Ryan caught his breath, chest heaving. Michael climbed up Ryan’s body, straddling him in the chair as Ryan brought their mouths together. “Missed you,” he whispered._

Taking a deep breath, Michael readjusted himself and stood back up. He crossed the room to their bathroom. Like most of the rooms in the house, Ryan had designed the bathroom. Everything was stainless steel and black - very modern looking. The two sinks each had black carpets in front of them with monogrammed hand towels hanging off the counter. As if having mirrors above their sinks wasn’t enough, a large floor-to-ceiling mirror made up an entire wall that reflects the shower.

_Ryan pressed Michael’s front against the shower door, grinding his dick against Michael’s ass. Ryan’s arms snaked around Michael’s waist and his mouth found the crook of Michael’s neck._

_“You want me?”_

_“Yeah,” Michael grunted._

_As if they weren’t hot enough, the sheer amount of steam in the bathroom was beginning to make Michael sweat. From where his cheek pressed against the glass door, there was a clear patch that let Michael glimpse a piece of him and Ryan in the mirror._

_“Wipe the door,” Ryan mumbled in his ear. “I wanna watch this.”_

Smirking at the memory, Michael walked up to the scale in front of the mirror and gave it a slight nudge with his foot. The clear plate covering the numbers had black Sharpie scribbled on it in Michael’s handwriting: confidence is a stain they can’t wipe off.

_Michael set his fork down next to his licked-clean plate and looked up to find Ryan pushing his pasta around, his plate untouched. “What’s up?” Michael asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand._

_“Huh? Oh, nothing,” Ryan mumbled, dropping his fork and gulping down his glass of water._

_“You didn’t touch your food, man. And it’s carb night; your favorite.”_

_“Not hungry,” Ryan mumbled, getting up from the table and disappearing up the stairs._

_Twenty minutes later, after he’d cleaned up the kitchen, Michael went upstairs after Ryan. He found Ryan in their bathroom standing on the scale with his hands balled into fists. Michael knocked on the open door and Ryan quickly swiped at his eyes and got off the scale._

_He walked over to his sink and put his hands on the counter, his neck bent. Michael stood in the doorway, paralyzed by confusion - until Ryan started shaking. Michael crossed the bathroom in three strides and pulled his boyfriend against his chest. He stroked Ryan’s back and pressed kisses into his hair._

_Sniffing, Ryan picked his head up from Michael’s chest and looked up at him with puffy eyes. “I’m tired of them calling me stupid and fat. Did you see those Fox reporters? They fucking laughed in my face on the air. I’m tired of interviewers talking to me like I’m slow and people making fun of my body in magazines and their stupid fucking blogs. I train fucking every-”_

_Michael cut Ryan off by pulling him back against his chest, one arm around Ryan’s back, the other hand on the back of his head. Michael dropped his neck so his lips were next to Ryan’s ear. “You are not fat. You are not stupid. What does Weezy always say?”_

It was just another reason Michael hated the media. Why did they try to make everyone’s life so hard?

Michael left the bathroom and headed for the door when he noticed that the door to the walk-in closet they shared wasn’t closed all the way. Michael backtracked and found a sneaker that was definitely his own stuck in the door.

_Michael watched as Ryan carefully took off each article of clothing, turned it rightside out, and then dropped it into his electric green hamper._

_“Enjoying the show?” Ryan asked as he took off his sneakers and placed them back into their assigned spot on the shelf._

_“Don’t flatter yourself,” Michael said as he toed off his own shoes, stripping out of his shirt and dropping it on the floor a few feet from his hamper. He peeled off his jeans and left them on the floor where he stepped out of them and left the closet._

_“Yo,” Ryan called._

_“What?” Michael asked, poking his head back in._

_“MP, your hamper is literally right there.”_

Michael picked up his shoe and moved it out of the doorway so he could close it. He left their bedroom and walked down the hallway to the gameroom. After picking out the master bedroom and assigning two rooms as guest rooms, Michael and Ryan had run out of ideas as to what to do with the fourth empty room. They’d talked about making it into an office, but figured it would never get any use. What kind of desk work did either of them really have? So they decided to put in a couch, pool table, huge TV, and all of Mike’s gaming systems, since Ryan’s were hooked up to the TV in the living room.

Mike sat down on the couch and groaned. He picked his butt up enough to pull out the XBOX controller he’d left on the couch last night and promptly sat on. He put his fingers on the joysticks and thumbed them around a bit.

_Michael leaned forward on the couch, elbows digging into his knees and tongue curled over his upper lip. He was shouting into his headset and the dogs were getting all riled up. He kept using his foot to deter Herman’s constant attempts of jumping up onto the couch to lick Michael’s face._

_“YOU’RE FUCKING DONE! FUCK YEAH!” Michael screamed, throwing his hands into the hair in victory._

_“That was awesome, dude,” Ryan’s voice came in through the headset._

_“Yeah,” Michael said, coming down from his high and pushing Herman away from his face. “Hey, what time is it over there? Don’t you need some sleep?”_

_“I’m three hours behind, MP,” Ryan said. “I’m west.”_

_“Right,” Michael said, leaning back into the couch and hugging Herman to his chest. “When are you coming home?”_

_Ryan sighed. “I still don’t know. These meetings aren’t going as well as I’d hoped. No one’s really happy I fired Erica except me.”_

_“Well work something out,” Michael said. “It really sucks sleeping alone.”_

Michael got up and put the controller in the big box Ryan had bought to keep some semblance of order in the room. A tall shelf stood next to the TV where Michael and Ryan had spent three hours sorting out their games. They had two of almost everything, so one set went downstairs and the other got alphabetized onto this shelf.

There were dents all over the walls from people banging their pool sticks and scratches on the floor from where the pool balls dropped. After enough trips up and down the stairs, they’d put a mini fridge that was always stocked with beer in the corner.

Michael left the room, jogged down the stairs, turned right at the bottom, and walked into the living room. He leaned over the back of the couch, bracing himself for the next memory.

_Ryan had been acting weird all day. He’d kept giving Michael stupid errands to run, so Michael hadn’t been home in five hours. He pulled into the garage, picked up the eight bags of shit Ryan had requested, and kicked the door open._

_“Ryan, these directions you gave me were complete shit. I ended up on the opposite side of town.”_

_“Well yeah,” Ryan said, walking into the kitchen. “That was kind of the point. I made up that one street name, by the way. It was the street one of my ex-girlfriends from New York lived on.”_

_“Well that’s just great, Ryan,” Michael said, pointedly dropping all of the bags on the counter. He’d been getting really fed up lately. It was the day before Christmas Eve and they were spending it in Florida. All Michael had wanted was to go to Baltimore to finally escape the heat and have a white Christmas, but Ryan’s strict training schedule just wouldn’t allow it._

_“Do you wanna know why I made sure you weren’t home today?”_

_“Something stupid, probably,” Michael mumbled as pushed past all of Ryan’s Gatorade bottles to find a beer._

_“Not quite,” Ryan said patiently, taking the beer from Michael and putting it back in the fridge. “Follow me.”_

_Ryan took Michael’s reluctant hand and led him into the living room. When Michael had left, the only indication of Christmas was the tree they’d put up the weekend before. Now the place was decorated from top to bottom in what Michael assumed was glittering cotton that looked like snow. There were lights everywhere and Ryan had made a cardboard fireplace with a drawing of a roaring fire and put it under the TV. There was mistletoe hanging from the ceiling._

_“You said you wanted a white Christmas,” Ryan said, squeezing Michael’s hand._

_They spent the rest of the night cuddled together on the couch drinking spiked eggnog, watching Christmas movies, and pretending the fireplace was real._

Michael straightened up and patted the back of the couch. Sometimes he still found flakes of glitter on the carpet.

Michael walked back to the kitchen and opened the door into the backyard. He stood on the deck and looked out at the still, blue pool and the very green grass. He walked over to the grill and had to suppress an eye roll.

_Both of their families are over for the Fourth of July. Michael is playing with Taylor and Zaydin in the pool. Taylor just started using the floats that go around her arms, so she’s showing Uncle Michael how she can swim faster than him now._

_Kristin comes down to tell Michael that dinner is almost ready. Michael lifts Zaydin out of the pool and hands him to her, and then grabs Taylor around the middle and brings her out with him. He hands Taylor her towel before wrapping his own around his waist and they walk up to the deck together. Ryan and Devon are standing at the grill, Ryan with a spatula in his hand. The two, as usual, are talking animatedly. Neither seems to be paying attention to the grill, but Michael isn’t worried; Devon regularly cooked meals on the grill when he and Ryan lived together, and Ryan seemed to have learned from him._

_Michael turns away from Ryan to take a bowl of chips his mom is handing him and puts them on the table. All of a sudden, everyone is screaming. Except for Ryan._

_“Yo, Code 8, MP,” he calls. Michael sighs and turns back around to find flames have engulfed the grill._

_“Code 8,” he mumbles, reaching just inside the door to grab the fire extinguisher they keep handy. He pulls the key and sprays until the flames are gone._

_Ryan opens the grill using the spatula and examines the meat. “Perfect,” he smiles._

_“What are the seven more important codes, if fire is code eight?” Whitney asks him, her forehead creased._

_“You really don’t want to know, Whit,” Michael sighs._

Michael ran his thumb over the charred spot on the grill’s handle and then walked down the deck’s three steps and down the path that lead to the pool.

They’d debated remodeling the pool and making it Olympic sized, but Ryan didn’t want to have to wait for the project to be finished, so they stuck with a 20-meter, in-ground pool. They’d thought about painting a black line down one half of it for when either wanted to swim laps, but didn’t want to have to think too much about training when they were using their own pool, so they decided against it. It was just a pool.

Michael stopped next to the nearest lounge chair and smiled.

_It was hot, even for Florida. Michael had turned the sprinklers on so the dogs could stay cool while he sweated it out in the sun, deciding to at least get a tan out of the ridiculous heat. It was only 11, so Ryan was still training. Michael had brought out a pitcher of water and a cooler of ice so that he wouldn’t have to get up anytime soon, other than to get in the pool. But it was too hot to move._

_Since it was the middle of the week, the neighborhood was quiet. Everyone was either at work or school, and Michael, the retired 28-year-old, was tanning in his backyard. The newest Lil Wayne record was blaring through his headphones and Michael was just about to fall asleep when something wet and cold trickled on his stomach._

_He opened one eye to find a squinting and smiling Ryan standing over him. Michael popped out one headphone. “You’re home early.”_

_“Coach said it was too hot for him to stand out by the pool so he let us go.”_

_“That was nice of him,” Michael mumbled, closing his eyes again. As if Bob would ever have let him out of practice early._

_“C’mon, get in the pool with me,” Ryan said, bumping his knee into Michael’s side._

_“You just got dry.” Michael could tell because Ryan’s hair was lighter on the top and darker where it stuck to his forehead._

_“I spend most of my time getting dry; c’mon.”_

_“No,” Michael grumbled. “I was enjoying the peace and quiet.”_

_“It’s been quiet long enough,” Ryan said, peeling off his shirt and slipping out of his shorts. “The neighbors are probably worried.”_

_Michael just blinked lazily at him, more interested in watching Ryan undress than actually doing it himself._

_“C’mon, MP,” Ryan urged. “Let’s make some noise.”_

The sound of tires on gravel and a thumping bass made Michael turn his head toward the driveway where Ryan’s black Range Rover was pulling into the garage. Michael made his way back up the path and into the kitchen where the dogs were jumping on Ryan.

“What were you doing out back?” Ryan asked, taking a few treats from the jar on the counter and dropping them on the floor to get the dogs off him.

“Just… remembering,” Michael said.

Ryan walked around the island and pushed Michael so his back was pressed against the counter. Ryan rested his forehead against Michael’s and said against his lips, “Remembering what?”

“Um,” Michael gulped, not sure what Ryan was talking about or how he was supposed to breathe. Ryan chuckled deep in his throat and kissed Michael hard.

 

Later that night, Michael sat in bed as Ryan did whatever took him eight years in the bathroom every night. Eventually he walked out in his towel and disappeared into the closet.

“Seriously, Mike, use your fucking hamper,” Ryan called, reappearing a few seconds later wearing a pair of Ravens boxers that definitely weren’t his.

Ryan crawled into bed next to Michael, who curled right into his side.

“What’s with you today?” Ryan asked, absently running his fingers up and down Michael’s arm.

“I’m gonna miss this house, Ry.”

Ryan sighed. “Me, too. Remember when we almost broke up trying to unpack?”

Michael laughed, shaking the bed. “We could not agree on where to put anything.”

Ryan was quiet for a few moments, his thoughts racing. He was suddenly very overwhelmed with his fondness for the house they’d lived in for three years and how much he was in love with Michael.

“Hey, MP?”

“Yeah?”

Ryan paused again so his thoughts would stop getting all knotted together. “In this next chapter, like with kids and without swimming, we’ll still be us, right?”

“Yeah,” Michael promised, squeezing Ryan a little tighter. “We’re good, doggy.”


End file.
